


the dress

by clarkedarling



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, post 1x03, pre 1x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21737776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkedarling/pseuds/clarkedarling
Summary: “What do you mean, Charlotte?” she asked, tilting her head. “Work for what?"Befuddled, Charlotte furrowed her brow. “I had thought this dress was a gift from you,” she frowned. “Am I wrong?”or, charlotte is gifted a new dress and she has difficulty finding out who it came from.
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood & Sidney Parker, Charlotte Heywood/Sidney Parker
Comments: 26
Kudos: 160





	the dress

**Author's Note:**

> hello!
> 
> i've had this written for a while now and felt that i should post something whilst in-between stories. i have multiple ideas for the next story to upload, but i'm curious to know what people are craving. so far i have a serious of christmassy one-shots drafted, the first chapter for a multi-chapter 'series 2 what if' fic, and a reimagining of that new netflix film 'the knight before christmas' (it's so bad, _it's good_ you know?) let me know what you'd be interested in reading below - perhaps it's none of them!
> 
> anyway, please enjoy!

Charlotte never really was one to fuss about dresses, especially growing up in her cramped farmhouse where her dresses were usually secondhand, or made out of the curtains by her mother. She’d usually come home from the fields head-to-toe in grass stains and dried mud, so she’d never had much cause for nice clothes. She had brought with her from Willingden her Sunday dress, a white cotton garment that was beginning to look rather lacklustre, a fading purple gown that had rather paled in comparison to Esther and Clara’s dresses at Lady Denhamn’s luncheon, and an old brown pinafore that had once belonged to her mother when she was her age. Upon arrival she realised that the Parkers lived a much more lavish lifestyle than she had initially suspected, and found that she had come severely unprepared for the balls and luncheons they attended almost daily.

They had been more than generous, supplementing her wardrobe, which had been most lacking, as a show of goodwill. At first she had tried to refuse the occasional extravagance, like the quaint blue shoes or the splendid coral spencer, seeing it as far too exorbitant when really she was the one staying with them, putting them out. However, Mr Tom Parker had told her to view the gifts as payment for all the office work she was completing for him as his assistant. Not wanting to appear rude she accepted them, though felt a little overwhelmed at the gestures. To ease her conscious she put extra effort into caring for the children, and extra attention to detail whilst reviewing the paperwork.

A few weeks ago, she would have been indifferent towards a mark on her clothes, a tear in the fabric. However, she sat in her nightgown, staring down at her white cotton dress which had previously been her Sunday best, feeling somewhat mournful about the tattered hem. She thought back to the traumatic events of the day, in which Mr Stringer had fallen from his ladder and greatly injured his leg. Whilst she felt hugely sympathetic towards the two Stringers, and wished the elder a speedy and as painless as possible recovery, she spared a thought for her poor dress.

Of course, when she thought about her dress, she was forced to remember how it came into such a sorry state, and with remembering came a whole host of other thrilling, embarrassing, nerve-wracking, mortifying, stirring, and unfamiliar emotions. With a blush, she cast her mind back to the horrible incident when Old Stringer had fallen from the great height. Having been in comparable circumstances before, for example many of her siblings had fallen from their tempestuous horse, a farmer down the road had toppled from his roof while trying to thatch it, and a particularly nasty accident involving her brother and a scythe, so she knew how to compose herself and deal with all sorts of wounds. The second she had caught sight of the bone grotesquely protruding out of the flesh, she knew that a tourniquet was imperative to stop the flow of blood.

Now, this was where things got complicated. Without any thought of her own modesty, she had hitched up her dress and attempted to tear off a strip of fabric. The cotton wouldn’t give, and she had frantically looked between the two men hoping that one would assist her - without realising what this would mean, what would have to happen. Waiting to be asked, Mr Sidney Parker was the first to reach her, stooping low and ripping a broad band of her dress off in a few jerks and tugs. His hands had been gripping the hem of her dress, though in the strife his fingertips had brushed her thigh. She hadn’t had much time to think about it during the hustle and bustle of the accident, but now, sat alone in her room, it was _all she could think about._

Not only had she exposed her legs, but if his hand had been a few inches than he would have touched _far more_ than her thigh. Her stockings, tied just above her knees, had been the only thing between his fingertips and her bare skin, and that thought alone was enough to make her shiver and flush a deep scarlet simultaneously.

Had he observed the impropriety of the moment between them? Had he intended to touch her there, in such an intimate place, or had it been a mere accident? Had he even realised he had done it? Had the sight of her legs caused as much a stirring in him as the sight of his naked body had caused in her?

Butterflies swarmed in the pit of her stomach, so before she worked herself into a frenzy trying to decipher answers to questions she was too afraid to ask, she hung her ill-fated dress on the back of the chair and blew out the candle. She was hardly surprised that the second she closed her eyes, the image of Sidney Parker stood, stark-naked, at the seawater’s edge flashed (quite literally) across her eyelids.

Charlotte awoke the next morning when the maid knocked on the door, a large box clutched in her hands. Somewhat disorientated, blindsided by a perplexing yet rousing and altogether utterly awkward dream involving who else but Sidney Parker and that secluded spot down by the cove, it took her a few seconds to make sense of what was going on.

“Oh, sorry miss, I thought you’d be awake,” Emily, the young maid, apologised. She was a local girl, her accent as thick as James Stringer’s, and just a few months younger than Charlotte was. She was pleasant, always in a good mood, with mousy brown hair and jade green eyes.

Glancing at the clock, Charlotte saw that it was quarter to nine, a rather late start as far as she was concerned. “Not a problem, I must have slept in,” she explained, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she swung her legs out of the sheets. The morning sunlight was beginning to spill through the window, casting a soft warm glow across the room. “Is that for me?” She gestured to the box.

“Yes miss,” Emily nodded, handing her the parcel. It was ivory white, sealed with a silk ribbon tied delicately in a bow. “It was left outside your room.” She handed her the box as she began to tidy the room, flinging open the curtains.

Charlotte opened the box somewhat apprehensively. The quality of the box was beyond anything she’d received before, with the exception of her lovely blue shoes, so she was stupefied as to what was inside. Too big for a book or a letter from home, too small for - well, there wasn’t much that wouldn’t fit in the box, for it was the size of a window. Picking apart the bow carefully, she lifted the lid. Seeing what waited inside, she heard a small gasp escape her lips.

“Would you like me to take this dress away, miss?” Emily asked, holding up the tattered gown from the day before. “It looks a little worse for wear.”

Her heart bursting with happiness, she pulled out the gift from the box, tissue paper tumbling down at her feet. “Yes, thank you Emily,” she muttered, unable to tear her eyes away. “I don’t think I’ll be needing it anymore.”

In the box had been a breathtaking white day dress, made of the finest material she’d ever touched. On the dress pattern was little bunches of lavender in an enchanting lilac colour. It was certainly one of the nicest things, not just piece of clothing, that she’d ever seen let alone owned. Even Emily’s eyes popped out of her head.

“Who’s it from, miss?”

Rummaging through the periwinkle coloured tissue paper, trying to find a card or a tag attached to the ribbon, Charlotte shrugged. “It doesn’t say,” she sighed. “It must be from Tom and Mary.”

“I’ll leave you to try it on, miss.”

As Emily left, Charlotte rushed to get changed, yanking off her nightgown in one swift movement, eager to see what the dress would look like on her person. She forwent her corset, finding it too much hassle to wriggle into, especially without the help of Emily. Besides, she still found it rather alien to wear, having only worn it since arriving in Sanditon. Instead, she slipped on her chemise.

Finally, she had changed into the brand-new dress and leapt in front of the mirror. She couldn’t believe how wonderful she looked, even if it was a difficult and vain thing to say about oneself. The dress fitted her perfectly, the Grecian-style suiting her excellently. Running a quick brush through her hair, she raced downstairs where the Parkers would be sat in the drawing room.

Bounding into the room, she held out the skirts, even spinning around to show off the gown in it’s full glory. Mary set down her embroidery hoop and clapped. “You look splendid, my dear!” she exclaimed, her eyes taking in every detail of the dress. “Doesn’t she boys?”

Mary was addressing Tom and Sidney, who were sat opposite ends of the room, both reading the newspaper. Tom was engrossed in the sports section, only breaking away when he heard Mary’s voice. “Hmm, yes, lovely dress Charlotte,” he mumbled, half-heartedly, barely looking up for more than a second.

Sidney, on the other hand, had folded his newspaper in half and was almost drinking in the sight of her, his gaze roaming her figure, making her feel both self-conscious and desirable at the same time. A small smile was even playing on his lips, the expression causing him to look all the more handsome. He said nothing, though Charlotte feared that had he spoken she’d have blushed furiously, unable to hide her bashfulness.

“Oh, Mr Parker, I thought you would have been on the first carriage to London,” she babbled, wishing she hadn’t made such a spectacle of herself. What must he think of her?

Still amused, he shook his head. “I had planned on it, yes, but I thought a breakfast spent with my family was long overdue,” he explained, with a courteous nod towards his sister-in-law. Mary reached out and squeezed his hand, an amiable gesture he welcomed gladly.

“I must thank you Mary, truly this dress is more than I deserve,” Charlotte continued, words spewing from her mouth as she tried to find the right ones do the dress, and the kindness, justice. “I’ll work for it, I promise. I’ll toil away in the office helping out Tom with the paperwork, or I’ll spend more afternoons with the children, really I don’t mind."

“What do you mean, Charlotte?” she asked, tilting her head. “Work for what?"

Befuddled, Charlotte furrowed her brow. “I had thought this dress was a gift from you,” she frowned. “Am I wrong?”

“You know we haven’t a single issue supplying you with new clothes, especially since you came here with such light luggage, but I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that dress,” Mary informed her, gently. She admired the pretty thing once more, and pondered. "Though it is rather fine - perhaps a present from Miss Lambe? You two have been getting on remarkably well as of late.”

Considering the probability, Charlotte decided that it must have been Georgiana, though wondered what she had done to warrant such a charming gift? “Perhaps, yes,” she wondered. “Though I can’t think why. I wouldn’t possibly be able to repay her.” Her mind racing away, she surveyed the three Parkers before her. “Have you eaten yet?"

At the mention of food, Tom finally set down his paper and shook his head. “Not yet, not yet,” he answered, patting his stomach in a manner that reminded her of her own father, and rather made her yearn for Willingden.

“Well, I won't keep you from your family breakfast,” Charlotte said as she made her way towards the door. “I’ll go and thank Georgiana now and perhaps go and see - "

“Nonsense, my dear! You shall eat with us! You are as much a part of the family now as . . . as Sanditon is,” Tom searched for the perfect analogy. "Come, take a seat in the dining room. I’ll send for the children.”

Charlotte gave in and agreed to eat with them. She was sat beside Sidney, who was chivalrous enough to pull her chair out for her. As they buttered their toast and cracked their eggshells, she could feel his gaze on her occasionally, as though he was trying to engage her in conversation. However, every time she would turn to look across at him he would look away, either to tuck into his own plate or to assist the children with something.

Afraid to spoil her dress, she went the extra length to protect it, tucking in a napkin at the neckline and placing another one on her lap. Once again she caught Sidney looking at her, and was surprised to see him grinning.

“I don’t want to make a mess of something so lovely,” she made clear to him, defensively. It was quite challenging to tell whether he was poking fun at her, amused by her unrefined and unsophisticated conduct.

He held his hands up, as though surrendering, still smiling. “No need to explain yourself to me, Miss Heywood.”

Charlotte’s first port of call after her marvellous breakfast was to visit Mrs Griffiths’s lodgings, where she found a rather high-spirited Georgiana. The pair sat in the drawing room, Mrs Griffiths, of course, never too faraway, pretending to be captivated by her Bible passages when in truth she was doing a poor job of listening in to her charge’s conversation.

“What an attractive dress, Charlotte!” Georgiana exclaimed, reaching out to caress the fabric. “I can practically smell the lavender! Is it new?”

Charlotte felt like sighing. “You mean to say it’s not a present from you either?” she asked, feeling deflated.

Chuckling, though somewhat bewildered, Georgiana shook her head. “I adore you, and if I had access to my money you know I’d of course find you something exquisite, but no I haven’t been buying you any dresses,” she replied. “Why, do you not know who it is from?”

“No! It wasn’t Mary and Tom, so if it’s not you then my options are rather limited,” she muttered. “My parents haven’t got the means to be spoiling me with clothes such as this, and Lady Denham - _who has_ \- is hardly the generous sort.”

Georgiana gasped, as she clasped her friend’s hands in hers, giving them an enthusiastic squeeze. “Could it have been that foreman you’ve been gawking at?”

“Miss Lambe!” hissed Mrs Griffiths from across the room. “That is hardly an appropriate subject between two unmarried ladies!”

Rolling her eyes, Georgiana dismissed the pinched-face older woman. “He is rather pleasing to the eye, if you like country boys I suppose.” Coming from her, that was the highest form of flattery a man could hope to receive. “You could do plenty worse. And, I’ve seen how he looks at you. It’s as though - “

“Don’t you finish that sentence young madam!” Mrs Griffiths exclaimed, nostrils now flaring. She stomped across the room at an impressive speed and hoisted Georgiana up off the chaise longue. “I think some quiet reflection for you is in order. Say good day to Miss Heywood.”

A maid showed Charlotte to the door as she watched Georgiana be removed from the room, all the while making faces behind Mrs Griffiths back. Stifling her amusement, she let it all out the second the door was shut behind her. Amidst her bout of laughter she bumped into James Stringer, who seemed to be marching purposefully towards Trafalgar House, a modest bouquet of handpicked flowers; vibrant orange Turkscap lilies, delicate fuschia seashore mallows, and pretty fleabane daisies.

His somewhat engrossed and apprehensive demeanour began to unwind when he saw her, apologising for knocking into her.

“No, no, it’s my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” she dismissed, then glanced at the flowers in his hands. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, Mr Stringer?”

His manner tensed a little at this question, and he appeared to take a deep breath. “Well,” he told her. “I was hoping to find you, Miss Heywood.”

“Oh?” she asked, then grinned, holding out her skirts once again. “Was it to come and admire my new dress?” Whilst she doubted that James had been the one to gift her with such an expensive and luxurious item, she felt it would help to narrow down the rather short list all the same.

Flustered by the question, not really knowing where to look, James stumbled over his words. “I . . . uh, I . . . yes it is very . . . uh,” he continued on like that for a little while longer, until Charlotte took pity on him, not realising she’d have quite a strong effect on him by asking that simple question.

“I’m only teasing, Mr Stringer,” she assured him. “The dress arrived this morning and I’m trying to figure out who it’s from.”

He smiled at her, a wobbly sort of smile that indicated he was still nervous. “It’s a . . . it’s nice, but no, not from me,” he complimented, shakily. He met her eyes, smiled again, then looked down at the flowers in his hand. He held them out to her, swallowing. “These, however, are yours.”

Charlotte didn’t know quite what to say. Nobody had ever given her flowers before, let alone a man. Taking them slowly, a grin broke out across her features. “Thank you,” she said, bringing the bouquet to her nose, breathing in the scent of the wild flowers. “They’re very pretty.”

James looked delighted with her reaction, as he visibly relaxed, the tension in his shoulders loosening. “They’re to say thank you, for helping save my father,” he explained, now wringing his hands. “Without you I’m sure . . . well, I’m sure he wouldn’t have made it.”

Sadness began to creep into his voice, so she reached out and placed a gentle hand on his arm, in a token of sympathy and comfort. “You don’t have to thank me,” she said. “I didn’t really do anything. Dr Fuchs deserves all the credit.”

To her surprise, James covered her hand with his and held it, his touch clammy yet tender. “No, Miss Heywood,” he urged. “Your quick thinking, tearing off a piece of your dress like that, Dr Fuchs said that it gave my father more time. He could have died out in the street without you.”

He was holding her hand the same way he had in the street after his father’s operation, he was even looking at her the same way. It was affectionate, full of warmth. She wished Georgiana had been able to finish what she was going to say about how James looked at her, then she might have known what to say or do. Instead, she merely stood and blushed, flitting her eyes between the flowers and his gaze.

“I was wondering - “

“Admiral Heywood!”

As James began to speak, about something pressing it seemed, Sidney of all people called out to her. He was walking her way, the Parker children at his heel. Henry was on his shoulders, Alicia and Jenny holding a hand each. He was watching the scene unfold in front of him with invested interest, his jovial attitude hardening the more he took in; the flowers, the hand holding, the closeness of the pair.

“Charlotte!” they exclaimed, the girls rushing over to her, their blonde locks billowing in the slight breeze.

At the arrival of the Parkers, James let her hands go, whatever urgency that had possessed him before now dissipated. “I must head back to work now, Miss Heywood,” he muttered, as Sidney came to a halt beside them. “It was . . . it was lovely to see you again.”

He had already started to walk away before Charlotte had time to bid him a good day. Frowning, she felt herself begin to ease a little when Alicia and Jenny began to fawn over her dress again.

“Are you quite alright, Miss Heywood?” Sidney asked her, as he wrenched Henry from his shoulders. “You look most bewildered.”

Waving it away, she shrugged. “Mr Stringer seemed like he was going to ask me something, then stopped,” she sighed.

A crease appearing in his brow, Sidney’s eyes brushed over the bouquet in her hands. “Are they from him?” There was a sort of apprehensiveness to his tone, as though he was quite unsure that he didn’t want to hear the answer. When she nodded, his scowl deepened. “Hmm, well I suspect his question was most likely in reference to courtship.”

“Oh,” she gasped, feeling herself colour. She looked down at her feet, back at the flowers, over at the children; anywhere to avoid looking at Sidney. “Right.”

He was watching her closely, as he had done over breakfast. It only made the jittery sensation in the pit of her stomach worsen. “You can catch him up now,” he informed her, his expression now rather guarded. “If you have an answer for him that is.”

Charlotte shook her head rapidly, eyes wide. “No, no,” she quickly said. Then, she took the time to mull over her words, fearing her hastiness to react was impolite and ungracious. “I despair that my answer, should I give it now, is perhaps not the kind Mr Stringer might like to hear.” The sentence was tactfully strung together, as she took the care not to be overzealous with her emotions. What she had not said was that she couldn’t agree to court James when she knew, deep down, that her heart had already been given to someone else. It wouldn’t be fair, and it wouldn’t be right, regardless of if that certain someone reciprocated her desires.

To her delight she watched as Sidney’s passiveness melted away, replaced instead by a grin that overwhelmed his features, a grin that he couldn’t hide if he tried. “Well, let’s not go breaking any hearts today,” he said, with a teasing glint in his eye that made her knees feel like they could buckle. “I promised to take the children to the beach before I leave for London. Would you care to join us, Miss Heywood?” When Charlotte hesitated, he took a small step forward and tentatively said; "You’re more than welcome.”

She blushed as they began their walk towards the promenade. Alicia and Jenny began chattering about a bedtime story their mother had read them, whilst Henry grew distracted by objects he spotted along the way, such as a big stick or interesting shells.

They found a pleasant spot further down the beach, away from the bathing machines and crowds of people. Sidney laid out a blanket, and perched himself upon it, patting the spot beside him. Charlotte tried not to read too much into the gesture, but felt her heart hammering away as she sat next to him, their elbows brushing against each other’s. She watched the children splash about at the water’s edge, calling out to them to not go too far in or else they’d ruin their clothes.

Placing the flowers down on the ground, she smoothened down her dress, flicking off specks of sand. She caught Sidney’s eye as he watched her, beaming again.

“You truly do like that dress don’t you?”

Amused and astonished by his choice of question, she found herself smiling back at him, his own smile infectious. “It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever owned,” she admitted. “I wish I knew who gave it to me.”

“Well, have you narrowed down a list?”

She nodded. “The most likely suspect was Georgiana, but it wasn’t her. I asked Mr Stringer too, on the off chance, and it wasn’t him. We’ve already established that it wasn’t Mary and Tom. I’m certain it wasn’t my parents, for they couldn’t afford such a lovely thing, not with thirteen other mouths to feed.” She caught herself before she divulged too much about her family’s financial troubles. "That really doesn’t leave many people.”

Sidney chuckled slightly, an odd sound that bordered on despairing. “Haven’t you forgotten somebody?” he offered, his voice quiet, barely audible over the sound of crashing waves and seagulls high above them.

“Surely the dress isn’t from you, Mr Parker?” Charlotte gulped. Was this some terrible joke? Was he merely pulling her leg?

“Am I really that awful?” he asked, strained. He seemed somewhat shy, unable to meet her gaze. It nearly broke her heart.

She reached out to hold his hand in hers before she could really comprehend what she was doing. The touch surprised them both, their eyes locking. “You are anything _but_ awful,” she assured him. “It is me who has behaved appallingly. I overlooked your generosity because I assumed I knew better. Please forgive me.”

He turned his body so that he was kneeling beside her, still clutching onto her hand. “It is I who must be forgiven,” he replied, all despondency gone, replaced by an acute eagerness. “I ruined your dress. It was only fair that I replace what I had spoiled.” He took one of his hands and gently, with silent permission, began to run a finger along her shoulder, tracing the seam where it stopped at her collarbone. She shivered under his caress, and prayed that he didn’t see the effect he had over her. The combination of his touch and the recollection of the incident in which he had ripped the fabric off her dress was all too much for Charlotte. She wondered if he was remembering just what she was, where his fingertips had grazed the previous day. His gaze was transfixed, his breathing heavy; she somehow _knew_ that he was. “I saw this in a shop window and couldn’t resist. The pattern . . . it reminded me of you. I remember that night at the ball, when we danced together. You smelt so wonderfully, like lavenders, that I feared you were trying to hypnotise me, or cast a spell.”

Charlotte had stopped breathing, her lips parted, as she watched him talk with wide eyes. His finger continued to travel, this time up her neck and to her hairline, where he carefully tucked a wild strand of hair behind her ear.

“I assure you there was no witchcraft involved,” she told him, under her breath, thinking out loud. He broke out into a wide grin, retracting his hand. She blinked, for what felt like the first time in hours, and swallowed thickly. “I didn’t realise you had even noticed me that night, beyond my penchant for speaking my mind.”

He ran his thumb over her knuckles, a movement so soft she worried she was imagining it. “There was much I noticed, Miss Heywood,” he said in a low voice that she felt deep down in her stomach, sending the butterflies berserk. “It was my own pride that got in the way.”

“You were defending your family, I see that now. I deserved everything you said to me.”

He shook his head. “No, you didn’t. I was a brute. I invited your opinion then chewed your head off when you gave it. I underestimated you severely, expected you to be just like all the other young ladies, when in truth you’re . . . you’re exceptional. Truly, you astound me more and more each day.”

Charlotte couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “We have both been guilty of dismissing the other,” she admitted. “You said it yourself, we have had each other all wrong."

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said yesterday, about rewriting our history if we find it disagreeable,” he began, taking a deep breath. “I detest how cold I have been towards you. I should like, if you’ll allow, a second chance.”

“Oh Mr Parker, I’ve already given you infinite chances before you had even asked,” she said, warmly.

The joy spilled out onto his features, the grin stretching from his lips to his dazzling chestnut brown eyes. “When I return from London, may I call on you? We can begin getting to know one another, properly. Mary can chaperone, or Georgiana if you’d prefer. We can do anything you’d like, anything at all. All I ask is that you wait for me.”

She wanted to throw her arms around him, embrace him, even share a soft kiss. However, it would have been most improper, and everything so far about their tumultuous friendship had been borderline inappropriate. If they were starting again, she’d have to go about their burgeoning courtship appropriately, so she settled for a squeeze of his hands. “I’d wait forever,” she promised him. 

That seemed to be enough, for now.

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to palis-delon on tumblr for the point she made about regency underwear, and how during the ripping of the dress scene sidney would have seen far more than he bargained for.


End file.
